Orbs
by Meggin Lane
Summary: We know Orbs seem to gather over trauma sites and the Supernatural fandom is the most dedicated in TV history so this story explores some reasons for the lovingly obsessed co-dependency fans have for Dean Winchester and perhaps the fans own supernatural connections to his character.


Orbs

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Don't own 'em, just love 'em wished ta 'ell I coulda worked for Kripke.

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The Supernatural fandom is the most dedicated in TV history. And Orbs seem to gather over trauma sites so this story explores some reasons for the lovingly obsessed co-dependency fans have for Dean Winchester and perhaps the fans own supernatural connections to his character.

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Why that show, Supernatural, about two brothers struggling to stay close and who constantly battle forces that seek to rend them apart got to me so I'll never know. Was it just because the older one, Dean Winchester, is so goddamn handsome? Yeah, maybe...on the surface...or maybe, if I'm honest with myself, I secretly do know.

See, I keep having this recurring dream.

It's night, though how I know it's night is hard to explain since I find myself inside the bunker, ( did I mention that's where the Winchesters live?), there are no windows to tell you what time of day it is in that super secret, Men of Letters, bastion of impenetrability. But it IS night and I'm standing beside Dean Winchester's bed watching him sleep. Not creepy at all -right? (sighs)

I notice that the 1940's, Craftsman style lamp sitting beside Dean's bed dimly lights the whole room. He is lying on his tummy sleeping on sheets spread over that 'memory foam' mattress of his. He's wearing a dark V-neck T and covered by a thin blanket with his body slightly on its side facing away from me. His right hand is up underneath his pillow and the other lies limply at his side. His rib cage rises and lowers slowly and he's making a soft snoring sound. It's the sound that focuses my attention to his nose, which looks rather pink and puffy-he sounds stuffed up until I look over to the closed eye I can see. Those dark lashes are so lush that for a moment I think they are thick enough to sift the stars out of the night sky-until I see the bruising under his eye. "oh!" I gasp but no sound is made. "He's hurt, he's not stuffy, he's injured..."

He is always injured, the injuries vary each time and I start do a mental check of his posture on the bed. "Is he curled up a bit because he's protecting his ribs?" Just then he groans a little and rolls over onto his back pulling his hand out from under the pillow and it's bandaged. One glance at his peaceful face and I can see a red line where his lower lip was split. "Ow." I say aloud yet silence fills the room. "Poor baby!" Suddenly I'm filled with a fierce need to reach out and gently touch that cut lip... to have him healed...now, to make all the pain this character suffers just go a.w.a.y.

But just then I realize that I have no hands. No body for that matter. And it is at that point I sense that we ( meaning me and Dean) are not alone. Because a round bubble of soft green blue light floats past me and hovers over Dean's sleeping form. "What the hell...?"

It is then as I peer past into the deeper darkness of his room that I see other translucent spheres there, like they had been there before I was even aware of them! And they are moving, floating... not randomly but as if they had a purpose, a destination, a kind of sentient presence. And I suddenly understand that they chose to be here. To be near this man and to help? no... seek his presence because they can help him heal...and they in turn are healed as well.

"Man, this is way too Zen, hippie, earth mother friggin' crazy for this gal right now except I wonder how I got here too? And what the hell happened to my hands?"

Dean stirs and moans just a little and I freeze at the sound. I don't want him to wake just yet and end this dream, if it is a dream. He looks so perfect lying there, those impossibly broad shoulders, those lovely eyes-even closed they make him look so young-but wait the swelling is down on his cheek! I look down to his full lower lip and the line is less red and now just a shallow pink indent. He's healing! Being healed right before my eyes by these bubbly things of shimmery light-these "Orbs".

I've heard of them. They are supposed to be supernatural in nature. They are thought to be the left over energy signatures of souls that have crossed over or the manifestation of nature spirits, Elementals. Or some research says they could be manifestations of living thought forms. I don't know, but they are everywhere now. They fill the room from floor to ceiling and I even think I just heard one of them sigh. "Can a manifestation sigh?"

I'm getting really confused now, I can almost hear their thoughts. Like "they" have thoughts!? Mostly, I get a sense of communal urgency to sooth him, to give him peace and make his sleep deep and restful as they crowd around his unconscious form and lightly brush against each wound that needs to be healed or sore muscle that needs to be soothed.

Let's face it, since season two I've wanted to help this guy. He's carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and the one ray of light he has, he has ever had, was of keeping his little brother, Sam, safe. Even with every battle they fight to make the rest of us safer by taking out one evil thing at a time, Dean does it while keeping one eye firmly fixed on Sam. So for him a good day is that they get the bad guy and Sam still stays alive, never mind what happens to Dean. Bottom line Sam is ok. And by keeping Sam safe while doing all these dangerous things Dean gets beaten up a lot. But he miraculously is fit enough to do it all over again when the next job rolls around. "How is that possible? I can barely drag myself outta bed each day and I don't fight fugleys for a living."

But in a way I can kinda relate. I'm in this never ending thing right now where I don't know when I'll ever be safe, but I do know it's going to end badly. Kinda like their lives. And anyone who's ever acted as caregiver for anyone else can relate to Dean's life, I guess. So I can get his stubborn fixation of keeping his eyes only on the single horizon of getting by one more day and be satisfied by that as a win too. Coz I know what it's like not to want see too far ahead, because it likely will not be pretty. I guess thehits he takes could, metaphorically, be compared to my own. And as I look around I see a similar empathy toward Dean, this hero of little means who keeps on fighting with the other Orbs in here with me. I can feel the memory of a son lost in a foreign war, sense several whose children were taken by cancer, some are in financial straights, have lost or about to lose their homes, a few mourn family held on too tight because it's all they had, but all of them see a validation that through his life their own struggles are made noble too. Wait...I'm an Orb?

I'm bumped into by one of them, or was I pushed? And I find myself being drawn to his face, that remarkable, so very expressive face and I bounce awkwardly to stop upon his lips. I can feel the rhythmic breeze of his breath come at me as warm gusts from his nose. This is all too much as I look this way and that trying to figure out how I got there and how I can move...elsewhere...if I wanted to... but before I can get my bearings Dean moves beneath me and I'm buffeted up in the air over his head looking down on him again and he looks...better. The lip I brushed against is full and plump and perfect as if it had never been cruelly assaulted by a punch and I suddenly feel great! Like I just got the biggest energy burst ever in my life. I'm happier, I feel proud like I just saved a box full of kittens from sure death by bringing them in from a storm. I feel warm and fuzzy and like I did something I was meant to do and then I'm floating higher and higher in the room toward the ceiling and away from Dean. I don't want to be that far away, I want to stay near him. I have so many questions and this feels just way too good to have it stop now...

Then I wake up.

The dream fades but I'm not...unhappy. Just tired a little like maybe I didn't sleep so well. And the last thing I remember as the day tugs me more awake is that color of his blanket was maroon, his room was very warm and he smelled of day old T-shirt, soap and...what was that other scent? Motor oil? Some kind of metalic smelling oil. I dunno.

If I'm lucky maybe I'll remember it more clearly the next time. Because as surely as I know he'll let himself get injured again saving Sam I know I'll make that nightly visit...joined by the others who want to keep our hero healed so he...and we can get up and fight another day.

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